


Christmas

by quillquiver



Series: Angel's First [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel's First, Christmas Tree, Destiel - Freeform, Enochian, First Christmas, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 23:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillquiver/pseuds/quillquiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters had never been particularly good at Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is so late! It's subject to editing, but I really wanted to post because I haven't updated this series in a while... Hope you guys enjoy! And as always, criticism and comments are greatly appreciated :)

The Winchesters had never been particularly good at Christmas. Or perhaps that was a lie. Dean vaguely remembered a warm house and trimmed tree, the air filled with cinnamon and pine and something distinctly _Christmas_. If he thought hard enough, the hunter could remember perfectly wrapped boxes in shiny paper, cookies and milk left out by the fireplace, and parading around the house in a Santa hat, begging his mother for carrots for the reindeer: “Momma, reindeers don’t eat _cookies_ … What if they’re hungry, too?”

As the years progressed, these memories got jumbled and twisted; some went up in smoke and others were so shattered Dean was no longer sure they were real. Had he imagined pancakes on Christmas morning? How could he be sure he had helped his mother hang the mistletoe, and that she’d given him big, loving kisses all over his face because they’d been standing under it?

After the fire, Christmas had pretty much ceased to exist. Moving from place to place, watching Sammy… That life had no stability. There was no room for a tree in cramped motel rooms, and money was too tight to afford real wrapping paper. Presents were a waste of time and resources alike: what use did John’s children have for superfluous gifts they’d grow out of? They already had everything they needed. They knew how to survive. Soon enough, John Winchester stopped pretending to do Christmas altogether, his decision marked by the way he wouldn’t come home until several days after the holiday. Sam grew up with it; he hated not having what the other kids did, but he didn’t feel the loss in the same way his brother did. For a long time, Christmas was a source of sadness and pain for Dean, until he too simply stopped pretending that a real Christmas was something attainable.

He had tried to ‘keep the magic alive’ for Sam, but there was only so much a kid could do. Eventually, the holiday became just another failed attempt at normalcy; a reminder that the ‘apple pie life’ was something the Winchesters would never have.

This year was different.

It was different because there was no dank motel room. It was different because they had room for a tree. But mostly, it was different because of Cas.

Since Sam could remember, Christmas was always something he’d do with Dean and Dean alone. They’d grit their teeth and suffer through the mass of holiday shoppers and garishly decorated houses, and the Eve and Day would be spent hunting or drinking or simply sitting around doing nothing. Some years it would be acknowledged, and some years it would be resolutely ignored to the point of agony. In short, Christmas had been annoying for the better part of their adult lives… It certainly hadn’t felt special. At least, not until Castiel had asked about it during breakfast one morning.

“Christmas is in a week.”

Both Sam and Dena had paused, the former midway into his spoonful of cereal while the latter paused in munching on his toast.

“And?” Dean asked through a mouthful of food.

“And, though it had absolutely nothing to do with the birth of Jesus Christ, I was under the impression that it was quite a big deal.”

“It is,” Sam replied. “But not for us.”

Cas frowned. “I don’t understand… Observation has revealed that this holiday has strayed far from its religious roots and historical significance. Your lack of faith should have nothing to do with weather or not you observe the tradition.”

Dean swallowed, looking at his brother hesitantly. They both knew what Cas was getting at, but the last time they’d done Christmas had been Dean’s last year. Then again, things had changed drastically since then, and the eldest Winchester did want to teach their resident angel about human nature and tradition…

“I dunno,” Dean said amiably. “Maybe we can get a tree.”

Sam sighed. “Dean…”

“What? Come on, Sammy, where’s your holiday spirit? You seriously gonna cheat the poor guy out of his first Christmas?”

Dean didn’t know it at the time, but he’d regret those words. 

As it turned out, Castiel was a stickler for tradition, which not only meant that they had to get a tree, and lights, and decorate everything in sight, but they had to do it as a family. At the beginning, it had been kinda nice. You’d never know it from the way Sam walked around like a bomb was going to go off, or Dean acted like he didn’t care what kind of lights they got (“The white ones.” “I thought you didn’t care.” “I don’t.”), but it had been nice.

Hell, they’d even gotten a star for the top of the tree. Castiel had asked, rather uncomfortably, whether it was customary to place a star or an angel atop the highest bough, and Dean had wrapped his arm around the dark-haired man amiably, leaning in close enough for the contact to only just be considered platonic. “We’ve already got an angel,” he’d said softly, grinning as Castiel’s cheeks reddened.

Sam wanted to die in a hole. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they had to be doing this when people needed to be saved, he had to watch his brother try and flirt with their awkward fallen angel.

But hey, it was nice to be some semblance of a family again.

When did it stop being nice? When they actually had to decorate the tree. While Dean and Sam went for the random, put wherever it feels right approach, Castiel insisted on policing both men around; as if the greatest sin wasn’t murder, but a badly decorated Christmas tree.

“No, Dean, that one goes over there.”

“Oh my God, Cas, _it doesn’t fucking matter_.”

“Sam, more to your right. No, your left. No, too high. Perfect.”

In the end, the boys had had to sit down and have a talk concerning the fact that it was just a Christmas tree. This had dissolved into Sam and Cas decorating the tree (because hey, if they could be slightly neurotic together, awesome,) while Dean was sent into the kitchen to make cookies, of all things.

Things went smoothly until Cas went to check on Dean’s progress, at which point the hunter was scolded for making supernatural themed treats.

“Dean, what is this?”

“What? Dude! I got a zombie snowman, a ghost Santa, a killer Christmas tree, oh! And us.”

The ‘us’ were three men with oddly drawn faces. Dean and Cas were smiling, icing covering their bodies in some semblance of clothing. Castiel clearly had his tan trenchcoat on, and his eyes were bright blue icing. He was smiling. Actually, both he and Dean were smiling… Sam was doing something Dean had called his ‘bitch face’.

Castiel told Dean the only reason they weren’t re-starting from scratch and making _Christmas cookies,_ was that he did not believe in wasting food.

So maybe Cas ended up being a little bit of a Christmas freak. And maybe he was controlling. But honestly? Neither Sam nor Dean had any idea where to start with this stuff, so in a way, they appreciated the direction. They didn’t appreciate being ordered around all the time, but a couple of carefully timed and worded talks had eventually fixed that. Eventually. It had taken a while.

But suddenly, the Bunker was heavily decorated (lights, mistletoe, little snowmen, the whole nine), everyone had managed to buy presents, and it was Christmas day.

And as if waking up to a home that smelled of cookies and pine wasn’t weird enough, Dean was ridiculously excited. Quickly, the hunter slipped on his socks and robe, refusing to acknowledge that it was something like eight in the morning as he made his way to the kitchen. Castiel’s door was open and Dean smiled privately. Maybe he wasn’t the only one excited for Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

The hunter looked up from where he’d been making hot chocolate and grinned. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Sam woke up shortly after and breakfast was leisurely and slow, despite the fact that it was very clear all three Bunker residents wanted to open presents. Apparently, some unspoken rule prevented them from doing this until after their meal.

Dean thought that was stupid. “So, presents?” he asked pseudo-calmly as he dried the last plate.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, putting it into the cupboard. “I think that’d-”

“Awesome.”

Soon, all three men were sitting in front of the tree, brightly wrapped packages in their hands. “On three?” Sam asked, fingers itching to undo the gold paper covering one of his gifts.

Cas and Dean nodded in unison.

“One,” Dean said.

“Two,” Castiel murmured.

Sam paused for effect, looking at both men with a grin. “Three!”

The sound of ripping paper echoed through the Bunker.

Dean was the one to have finished first, holding a couple of antique porn mags and some ridiculously expensive car wax for his Baby. “Thanks, Sammy,” Dean murmured, assuming the gift-giver correctly.

Sam shrugged bashfully, looking over his own gifts with flushed cheeks; a brand new laptop from Dean, and a gorgeous leather-bound copy of the Odyssey from Cas. The brunette swallowed thickly, fingers trailing over the differently textured surfaces of each present as he took a deep breath. “Thanks, guys,” he said softly. “You really didn’t have to.”

Castiel and Dean smiled in response, the former letting out a slight breath of relief. He had been sure Sam would enjoy the gift, but nonetheless, Christmas shopping was, in most ways, more stressful than averting the apocalypse.

Looking at the unwrapped package in his own hands, Cas felt his voice catch in his throat. He gasped, graceful fingers carefully tracing the spine of an antique poetry anthology. “It’s beautiful. Thank you,” Castiel breathed, looking at both brothers because he had no idea who it was from.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, a smile on his face. “No problem, Cas. It’s really good, too. I studied some of those poets in school.”

Cas grinned, carefully opening the book to look skim through its dusty pages. Dean watched him with a small smile, beyond thrilled with his own gift… but if he was being honest, the fact that Cas didn’t get him anything was a little disappointing. The hunter had Castiel’s present hidden away, uncomfortable with giving it to the former angel in front of anyone, but he doubted Cas had done the same. The guy just didn’t have the human know-how to pull something like that off… which was totally okay. At the end of the day, Dean liked giving gifts more than receiving them anyway; it just kind of hurt that Cas hadn’t thought of him.

This was probably why, when Castiel approached him in the living room four hours later, hands behind his back, Dean had been surprised. While Sam was in the library setting up his laptop, Dean had grabbed Vonnegut from his collection, Cas’ gift form under his bed, and after placing the latter under the tree, he’d curled up on the couch with the former. It was here that the blue-eyes man found his friend, fingers trembling as he held out a wrapped box, smiling nervously. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Getting Sam a gift was different than getting Dean one. Cas was sure what Sam liked; Dean… Cas couldn’t wrap pie, and getting a prostitute had been way out of his league.

“Cas, man, you didn’t have to get me anything.” Dean looked at the gift, wrapped in childish paper and covered in tape. It reminded him of when Sam had been first learning to wrap presents, and the thought made him smile.

“I… looked on the Internet, but wrapping proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated.”

“No, man, it’s cool,” Dean ran his fingers over the paper of his gift, fingers hitching over the ridged packaging. Either this present was really weirdly shaped, or Cas had used way more wrapping than necessary. “It’s, uh, it’s perfect. Thanks.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked up, though his posture was still tense with anxiety. “You… haven’t opened it yet.”

“Yeah, no, I-I know that,” the hunter shrugged, an embarrassed flush creeping up his neck. “But, uh, from you? Anything you give me, Cas, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

The amazed, if somewhat confused look the fallen angel had was enough to make Dean’s insides flip, the hunter moving quickly to break eye contact. He reached under the tree for a perfectly wrapped, rectangular box. “Here.”

Cas’ eyes widened, taking the package delicately from his friend’s hands. Though he hadn’t necessarily been expecting a gift, he was so thankful and overwhelmed to have received one. “Dean-”

“Just open it.”

“Perhaps, we should do it together?” the fallen angel asked hesitantly, the prospect ;of watching each other suddenly very stressful. “At the same time, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, relieved. “Yeah, good. One. Two. Three.”

Dean tore at the paper, unable to stop the grin from over-taking his face when he found out that yeah; Cas had indeed used too much wrapping paper. In fact, he had probably used an entire roll. With multiple rolls of tape. He also noted the:

_To: Dean_

_Love,_

_Santa_

Amazed that Castiel had added the tag despite the fact they both knew whom the present was really from, Dean felt his chest warm with affection he couldn’t control. He had never received a gift from Santa Claus before.

Cas unwrapped his own gift meticulously. Having never received any sort of present before, the fallen angel took his time, appreciating the bow and brightly coloured paper before systematically and carefully freeing the wrapping from the box.

Dean frowned as he continued with his own gift, looking at the good-sized wooden box in his hands. A curse box? “Uh, Cas…”

His own present forgotten, Castiel quickly reached over to open the thing, to which the hunter almost shrieked in alarm. “It’s not a curse box,” Cas said quickly, nervously. “I carved protection sigils on it… Once you lock it up with the key, nobody will be able to open it. It’s practically indestructible.

Dean closed the lid, ignoring the objects within the box for the time being and running his fingers over the carved wooden top. It was beautiful. The box itself was a deep, reddish brown colour, the lock tarnished silver and engraved with odd markings. He touched the metal piece, feeling the patterned rides against the pads of his fingers. “How’d you engrave it?”

“There was a place in town.”

Dean grinned. “They must’ve given you some weird looks.”

“Not any weirder than usual,” Cas replied, relaxing somewhat with the easy conversation. After all, his friend didn’t seem to outright hate the gift, so that was a step in the right direction.

“Thanks, Cas, I love it.”

Thank God.

“My pleasure,” Castiel responded, slumping against the couch. He was suddenly exhausted. “There are other gifts. Inside the box. If you... If you want to open them.”

Dean slumped back as well, accidentally on purpose moving in such a way that his side was completely pressed up against Cas’. Flipping the lid, Dean pulled out a pair of Batman socks. “No fucking way.”

Castiel’s eyes widened in panic. Dean hated them. Whenever he said ‘fuck’ he was angry or being sarcastic and now he said it and that meant he _hated_ them. “I’m sorry, I just thought-”

“Cas… These are _awesome_.”

Dean ripped the packaging open, moving around and ending up half in Cas’ lap while he slipped his own socks off and put the new ones on, his pajama pants tucked into them so you could see the logo. Grinning widely, the hunter extended his legs, wriggling his toes. “Hey Cas,” he smiled, nudging his friend conspiratorially. “I’m Batman.”

Poor Cas looked like he was recovering from some kind of shock.

“Hey. You okay?”

A nod.

“ _Castiel_ ,” Dean said sternly. The fallen angel met his eyes, a shiver running down his spine from both Dean’s tone and the name that fell from his full lips. “Chill, man… It’s just me.”

Another nod.

Dean wasn’t buying it. “Listen,” he said softly, “I’ve never… Me and Sam, we never really did Christmas. I mean, I think the only real present I ever got was when he gave me that damn necklace, you know? But, um, you… you took the time to get me frigging _socks_ , man. That’s- Anything you would’ve given me, even if it was like, an apple or a cool rock or something, I would’ve loved it. I’m just- the fact that you’re here-” He looked down at the box in his hands, biting his lip as he forced himself to make eye-contact. “I’m, um, I’m real happy.”

There was a long moment of silence, during which Castiel wondered what in the world he had done so right to deserve such an incredible being. He looked at his charge with amazement, heart pounding oddly in his chest while Dean broke out into a cold, awkward sweat. “Okay!” he chirped finally, hand reaching into the box for the next item. He pulled out a leather cord from which hung a flat, circular pendant. On it, an octagram was engraved; odd little symbols scattered around the piece. "I know it can never replace the amulet I took from you," Cas explained, this time more relaxed. "But it's a protective charm. I thought that since I can no longer protect you as I once could, this might help serve in my place." 

Dean was speechless. “I- Cas…”

“There’s one more item.”

Overwhelmed, the hunter nodded, reaching for the last thing inside the box; a letter, written in what appeared to be Enochian. 

"And that's a, um, a poem, of sorts," Castiel said quietly. "My knowledge of the English language, though vast, leaves much to be desired in terms of grasping some of its subtleties."

Dean's throat constricted as his eyes roved over the page, bursting at the seems with an emotion he didn't even know how to begin describing. "What's it say?" he asked hoarsely. 

"It... it's just a thank you, I suppose. For taking me in and-" He took a deep breath. "And for being so kind to me." 

_It's my 'I love you'._

Enochian was a complicated language. Where English was at times clumsy in description, Castiel’s native tongue had a word for every object, and to perfectly describe every feeling. To translate the note word for word would make little sense. 

But in the language of Angel's, Castiel's note was beyond poetry. It was an intricately woven piece of his soul, on display for Dean and Dean alone. It was a thank you just as much as it was a powerful declaration of love. 

Dean didn't know how to act almost to the point of feeling awkward. He bit his lip, unsure if hugging was going to be enough, especially when all he wanted to do was kiss the blue-eyed man senseless. On the other hand, Dean was certain that any sort of physical contact beyond what they had at the moment would result in an incredible lack of control. Instead, Dean clasped Cas' shoulder, fully intending to keep his distance when he found himself leaning forward to press his lips to Castiel's cheek, breathing his thank you against the stubbled flesh. 

He pulled back with red cheeks and wide eyes, clearing his throat, nudging the other man in an overly platonic gesture. "C'mon. Your turn."

The dark-haired man finished unwrapping his gift, opening the box slowly. Inside was the most garish, kitsch-looking sweater Cas had ever seen. It was _beautiful_. 

Saying as much, Castiel brought the thing up to his face, rubbing the soft red material against his cheek. The sweater featured a polar bear and snowman, with Santa Claus and his sleigh in the foreground. The trees on the shirt were strung with little plastic lights. 

Immediately, Castiel moved from his place half under the hunter, slipping on the sweater with a large grin as he threw himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his friend. "Thank you," he murmured, lips brushing the skin of Dean's neck. Dean's breath hitched, hands moving to rest on Castiel's hips of their own accord. The fallen angel was now straddling his thighs.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean said, voice soft and calm despite the fact that he was panicking. Cas. Cas was straddling his lap. Innocently. Because this was just a hug. Warm and pretty Castiel was being his ridiculously endearing self, once again completely unaware to the fact that Dean was trying everything in his power to keep himself under both physical and emotional control. 

Castiel hummed in reply. Biting his lip, the hunter pinched his friend's butt under the guise of getting the man's attention and _not_ because he was at the end of the proverbial rope.

Cas yelped, pitching his hips forward in a delicious friction that made Dean's voice crack. Castiel looked down at his hunter, baby blues wide and chest heaving. Well, that plan could have gone better.

"There's, um, another present. In the box," Dean said sheepishly. 

And like a five year old, the fallen angel changed gears in half a second. Reaching over, Castiel did not move from his place on Dean's lap, pulling a gorgeous, navy blue sweater from the box. It had a white snowflake pattern along the biceps and upper chest and Castiel felt an odd feeling work his way up to his throat, getting stuck there as tears sprang to his eyes. He buried himself into Dean's neck again, breathing in shakily against the skin as he tightened his arms around his friend. "Hey," the hunter murmured, concerned.

"Thank you," Castiel cried. "Dean, thank you." 

"It's my pleasure, Cas," the hunter replied softly, biting his lip. Hesitantly, he wrapped his left arm around Cas' waist, right hand moving to cradle the fallen angel's head. They stayed like that for a long while.

"I'm sorry," Castiel croaked, pulling away with wet cheeks and ruffled hair. His eyes were an ethereal blue as a flush crept up his neck and Dean briefly scolded himself for being so attracted to the appearance of such an emotionally compromised being. "I think I'm broken," Cas continued. He gasped out a watery laugh in the single most human act Dean had seen from him so far. "I don't feel sad, I promise. I just..."

Dean smiled, leaning up to cup the angel's cheeks. The pads of his thumbs helped to brush the moisture away. "Nah, man, sometimes people cry when they're happy."

"I am happy," Cas repeated softly. 

"Good." A grin. "I mean, if I'd have gotten a llama wool sweater, I woulda cried, too."

Cas breathed another laugh, head leaning ever so slightly back into the fingers at the base of his skull. "Llama wool?"

"All the way from New Zealand." 

Cas smiled softly, moving forward to nudge his nose against Dean's in a gesture that felt impossibly loving. Dean's lips parted, barely brushing against the fallen angel's as he pulled Castiel as close as humanely possible, their foreheads resting against one another's. Cas breathed a beautiful word against Dean's mouth. It wasn't in English, and the blue-eyed man hadn’t meant to utter it, but the gorgeous meld of sounds rested comfortably on Dean’s bottom lip, the hunter’s tongue moving out to taste it.

“What’s that?” Dean whispered, tilting his head to nudge noses again.

Castiel felt his stomach lurch pleasantly. “Enochian,” he said softly.

Dean grinned. “You speakin’ Angel to me, Angel?”

“It seems that way.” A smile while Cas leaned down again, brushing noses as the word tumbled from his lips the second time, beautiful and pure.

“What’s it mean?”

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly. “It’s appreciation in its broadest and purest form.”

“Thank you,” the hunter repeated softly before trying his best to mimic the Enochian word. Though he pronounced it all wrong, Castiel doubted there was a more beautiful sound in Heaven and on Earth. He repeated the word multiple times, face bright as Dean tried to emulate the sounds. The hunters right hand slipped downwards, moving to rest on Cas' hip as the back of his left brushed against the stubble of the angel's cheek, fingers brushing the shell of his ear. Castiel nuzzled into the contact reflexively, reminding Dean of a happy, blue-eyed cat. 

He actually looked perfect. 

Heart pounding in his chest, Dean leaned up again, tugging Castiel towards him as he purposefully brushed their noses. He breathed the Enochian thank you to the best of his ability, swallowing thickly as his brain caught up to his heart just a fraction too late: he was going to kiss Cas. 

Many things happened at once. Castiel's eyes were wide, staring at the hunter like he'd personally arranged the Second Coming while he tried to process Dean's actions in conjunction with his words. Dean's brain was trying (and failing) to stop himself from ruining their relationship forever while his heart urged him on, begging him to be selfish for once in his life; telling him that the past couple of weeks had all been leading to this moment... That the fierce protectiveness he felt for the angel would always end here; with them warm and pressed together and in love. Dean could see the disappointment in his father's eyes from even beyond the grave.

And then Sam entered the room. 

The younger hunter immediately turned on his heel, having the presence of mind to cut his sentence short and leave quietly. He exited the room with a sigh, wanting to kick himself. Sam didn't care who Dean was with, as long as his brother was happy. Unfortunately, having Castiel be that person made the situation more complicated and delicate. Sam hoped he hadn’t tipped the scale unfavourably.

Dean, meanwhile, did the exact opposite of what he thought he'd do. Biting his lip, the hunter pulled back calmly, shrinking into himself to hide behind Cas' lithe form. Hands dropping down to play with the hem if Castiel's sweater, Dean sighed, refusing to meet the baby blues looking at him so intensely, all curiosity and blatant desire. Desire for what, Dean was afraid to acknowledge… But he was becoming increasingly aware that the fallen angel’s inexperience and naivety in such areas was no longer a valid excuse to deny himself. "We should go get ready."

Cas had a million questions, but knew Dean well enough to climb off his lap with a nod. The hunter gathered his things and went to the door, about to leave when Castiel stopped him. "Thank you, Dean. For everything."

With the smallest smile, Dean repeated the Enochian word, making the same mistakes as before. He left Castiel sitting on the couch, torn and confused and feeling something so bittersweet it physically hurt. 

In Heaven, to appreciate someone was to love them. To say thank you therefore implied love, and the word for such an emotion was very similar to that of the expression of gratitude. It was rare, and that made it special. The root of the word was the same, and both communicated all-encompassing warmth. In Castiel’s case, warmth for the man previously between his thighs; this man who had, in becoming whole, broken him. This man who was now piecing him back together.

This man who had, unwittingly, confessed his undying love.

Biting his lip, Castiel fingered the llama wool sweater, the cruelness of the situation not lost on him: in the past hour alone, love had been professed from both parties, and he, Cas, was the only one who had understood them. From the letter the fallen angel had written, to saying thank you, to Dean’s mistaken confession, Castiel was the only one aware. And hearing those words, those syllables dropped perfectly and unknowingly from Dean’s lips, was cruel. Because Enochian was the most powerful language in the Universe. It was home. And Dean wasn’t even _aware_.

Castiel retreated to his room to get dressed.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch; both Charlie and Kevin came over, silly little gifts were exchanged, and the Men of Letters’ fine china was laid out on the table. Dinner in itself was traditional and relatively tasty, despite what Charlie was calling The Great Turkey Debacle. Sam and Cas had let the bird marinate for days as per the recipe the fallen angel had found, but cooking it took much longer than the indicated time frame. Dinner didn’t actually happen until ten o’clock at night, and the meat was so dry it had to be drowned in the gravy Dean had been in charge of. Not that anything tasted bad; everything was delicious… the meat just had to be swimming in gravy, and every other item (save for Sam’s salad) needed to be re-heated.

Either way, laughter and warmth filled the Bunker in a way it never had before.

Stacking up the plates, Castiel made his way into the kitchen, starting on the dishes as Dean trailed behind him somewhat awkwardly, used glasses in his own hands. “Need some help?”

“Thank you.”

The rest of the gang slowly migrated towards the sink, relieving the table of its used china as they did. Everything had been going great until the kitchen was cleaned, everybody heading into the living room to fall into their respective food dazes.

That’s when Cas and Dean had walked underneath one of the arches in perfect synchronization, both men looking at Charlie in panic and confusion as she squealed: “STOP IT STOP EVERYTHING.”

Castiel’s head tilted to the side, and it was Dean who had the good sense to look up, the hunter’s eyes widening at what he saw just above them. Mistletoe. _Mistletoe_.

“You guys have to kiss,” Charlie stated resolutely. “Thems the rules.”

Cas noted the tension in Dean's shoulders as he turned to the hunter, his own nerves tingling. Castiel did not dare move. He would not be the one to lean forward in front of all of Dean's friends and family. He would not make the first move, because he _would not_ disgrace the man the he Fallen for. 

This was Dean's decision.

And Dean: beautiful, kind, wonderful Dean, pasted on a disgustingly sugary smile and gave him the most awkward hug Cas would ever experience. The contact seemed to last a humiliating lifetime, but was probably about three excruciating seconds. Sam, Kevin and Charlie seemed to cringe, and Castiel’s face was bright red with mortification as Dean slapped him heartily on the back, pulling away and putting his hands in his pockets. "Who wants eggnog?!" the hunter asked enthusiastically.

Cas excused himself to spend the rest of the night in his room.

Dean, meanwhile, was much too busy trying to getting drunk on eggnog to notice. 

Because he had _wanted_ to kiss Castiel. Because he was confused and upset and needed to forget that that disgusting parody of affection had ever taken place. Because Dean had had the perfect excuse to finally get what he wanted, and he had chickened out… Because he couldn't bring himself to _be himself_ , not in front of all those people. Dean was scared. 

“I’m just gonna…” Charlie trailed off, thumb pointing vaguely in the direction of the door.

“Yeah, good idea,” Kevin chimed in. “Great to see you, Sam.”

“Yeah, you too, guys,” Sam replied, hugging each of them halfheartedly. “Sorry about this.”

“It was my fault,” Charlie murmured. “But hey, the course of true love never did run smooth. Merry Christmas, dude.” She turned to Kevin. “You coming, Boy Wonder?”

They showed themselves out.

Sam found Dean leaning against the counter, pouring half a bottle of Jack into his glass of eggnog. “Dean?”

The eldest Winchester resolutely ignored his brother, taking a long, deep swig of whiskey.

“Dean.”

Nothing.

“Seriously?” Sam asked impatiently.

Dean barely looked up.

Trying a different tactic, the younger hunter moved to stand next his brother, leaning back against the counter as well. “It’s okay, you know,” he tried. “Dad isn’t here anymore… You don’t have to pretend.”

 _That_ got a reaction. Dean rolled his eyes as if simultaneously exasperated and deeply offended (how? Sam had no idea, but it worked). “Christ, Sam, I’m not pretending, okay?”

But this was good, they were getting somewhere, and so the youngest Winchester pressed onward, no matter how awkward and out of his depth he felt: “I know that you can’t help who you love, Dean. And that’s okay. Girls, guys… both. Whoever it is, nobody will care as long as you’re happy.”

Dean snorted, taking the last swig of whiskey from the bottle before he began to work on his spiked eggnog. “Just fuck off, Dr. Phil. Seriously, I don’t need this bullshit right now.”

Trying his very best to be patient, the dark-haired hunter tried again. “Nobody will think any less of you-”

“Dammit Sam! I’m not gay, okay?!”

A frown. “I’m not saying you are-”

“Really?” Dean demanded. “Because that sounds _exactly_ like what you’re saying. Cas and me, we’re not like that. He’s my _friend_.”

“Then stop leading him on.” If Dean wanted to live so far deep in the closet he couldn’t tell his head form his ass, that was his business, but it wasn’t fair to Cas.

“What?”

“Come on, don’t give me that bullshit. Stop giving him false hope!”

“Sam,” Dean said slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. “Cas knows we’re just buds.”

“Really?” the brunette demanded. “Because the poor guy looked pretty damn hurt when you wouldn’t kiss him under the mistletoe.”

“You know how obsessed he is with tradition, he was just disappointed I didn’t follow through completely. Stop trying to make this into something it’s not.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Dean, open your eyes!”

“MY EYES ARE OPEN!” he yelled. “Stop trying to see things that aren’t there.”

“Dean-”

“Cas isn’t in love with me. I know everybody jokes about it, but he’s not. And I’m not.”

“You were talking to him in Enochian!”

“It was for scientific research!”

“ _Research_?” Sam scoffed. “I don’t know what the hell you were saying, but it looked a lot more intimate than _research._ You _know_ how earnest he is. You know how bad he is at lying to you-”

“Really? Because how many times has he lied to us? How many times has his lying fucked us over?”

“And how many times did he lie to _protect us_ , Dean? To protect _you_? How many times have you lied to protect _him_?” The youngest hunter shook his head in complete disbelief. “Just get out of my face.”

Dean’s brows almost hit his hairline. “ _Me_ get out of _your_ face? Really?! Get over yourself, Princess.”

Drunk and upset, Dean stopped by Castiel’s door, hand poised to knock. He hesitated for a moment, leaning against the wooden slab with a furrowed brow as he bit his lip, conflicted. With a sigh, he turned in for the night.

Merry fucking Christmas. 


End file.
